


Rabbit Holes and Street Lights

by BabylonsFall



Category: Leverage
Genre: Claustrophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Literal Sleeping Together, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Sleep Deprivation, see notes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 02:16:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16714651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonsFall/pseuds/BabylonsFall
Summary: So what if the case hits a little too close to home? So what if he can't close his eyes without tasting dust and wet earth? So what if he's been awake long enough that his eyes are going fuzzy and time doesn't seem to have a hold on him?(Hardison can't sleep on a case. Eliot and Parker do their best to help.)





	Rabbit Holes and Street Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So, while there's very (very) little spelled out about Hardison's nightmares, this directly relates to season 4, episode 7 The Grave Danger job, and resultant claustrophobia/nightmares, and that plays out in the tone this is written in.
> 
> If you feel more warnings need to be added, please let me know!
> 
> Otherwise, hope you enjoy!

The click of his keyboard is the only sound that fills the room, beyond the occasional tire-squeal or honk or siren, from out the window and far down on the ground. Those’re muted. Heavy and weighted, but ultimately as distant as the pale light of the street lights that only just dusting the balcony in a hazy glow. The balcony door is open to allow some air in, but Hardison couldn’t say when that happened or who did it—it’s as backgrounded in his mind as the rest of the quiet room.

The bright wash of his monitor had hurt his eyes when he’d booted it up, but by now, looking away into the dark hurt more.

There’s a tract he’s following, one path his mind is racing to follow, even as it twists and turns and wraps around on itself. New windows opened up, new notes to himself here and there, new backdoors and rabbit holes, his eyes never leaving the screen.

A distant part of his brain is telling him that his eyes are burning, but he’s worked longer and harder before, and this is nothing. He’s barely getting started.

(And if that same part of his brain is yelling at him to try to sleep again, that maybe this time he’ll be able to breathe without the rasp of dirt in his throat, without the click of a phone going dead, without a weight on his chest threatening to pull him under, well. That’s it’s problem.)

* * *

He vaguely notices when the muzzy glow of street lamps gives way to murky, wane dawn light, pale gold stretching across the carpet.

He hears Parker come in, from where she’d spent the night canvassing their mark’s residence. He doesn’t hear her leave, but he feels the cool air from the early morning at his back, meaning the door’s been opened further and whether that was the wind or her is anyone’s guess.

He doesn’t hear Eliot come in, from where he’d been working overnight with their client, establishing his cover. He hears the shower running though. Hears the heavy thump of something hitting the couch shortly after.

There’s something funny going on in their mark’s accounts that he can’t quite pin down. He’s hoping it’s not cash, because he can’t track that, not without finding even more of the network, and even that might not turn up anything. But he’s hoping its not, so he has to keep searching.

And while he’s at it, there’s the new feeds from the bugs Parker planted that need to be watched and picked over—live, if he can. The mark’s supposed to be home most of the day, sorting out things with his office and his PA. Perfect time to listen in really. And Eliot and Parker clearly aren’t going to do it, so it only makes sense that he does.

* * *

In his defense, he did try to sleep. Twice. Once, after they’d decided for Parker to case the place and for Eliot to get to work, figuring he might as well sleep  _ now  _ because the next couple of days would likely be running them all ragged. And the second time after the mark had sent his PA home, and had flipped on a football game Hardison had no interest in hearing. Eliot had left by that point, though where, Hardison couldn’t be sure. And Parker wasn’t back from wherever she’d gone, which was to be expected honestly. This early in the job, with little for them to do besides build up evidence and angles and establish covers, Parker was just as likely to be out, running around and clearing her head, as in, looking over Hardison’s shoulder and running through the plan with both of them again.

So, he’d tried to sleep that second time, feeling the drag on his eyelids and the ache in his back from sitting hunched over his laptop all day. He’d made it to the bed—hell, he’d made it under the covers. He’s pretty sure he actually did fall asleep, for a couple minutes there, too.

He doesn’t remember the dream that woke him up. Doesn’t really want to either. All he knows is that he found himself, sitting almost painfully upright, hands clutching a pillow hard enough to hurt, and biting back on a scream that had no air behind it.

So, sleep was out then. Back to the computer, back to the rabbit holes. He’s pretty sure he found where the money was going, but it wasn’t quite adding up.

* * *

Their mark is nothing special. Not really. Skeevy landlord, made rich through skeevier construction deals. They’ve met plenty of them by now.

Their client was one of the workers on the last job this guy contracted. Up until the building collapsed. Up until five of his coworkers, his friends, got buried under a ton of cheap concrete and cheaper steel. Up until only four of them made it out.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened, they’d found out.

Underbidding on materials, deals gone through with a buddy’s supply company to get them both rich quick, pay offs and threats for those who caught wind, bribes for the local government, buildings sold before their faults could become apparent...it was all pretty standard, as far as these scams went.

But listening to their client, as he sat across from them at the brewpub...listening to how he’d been in contact with his friends up until fire and rescue could pull them out…

Hardison hadn’t expected to sleep well on this job, and from the looks Parker and Eliot had thrown him, they hadn’t expected him too either.

But he’d still expected to sleep.

It just...wasn’t happening.

* * *

He’s pretty sure it’s the next day. He doesn’t remember the sun setting, or rising. Doesn’t remember Eliot or Parker coming back to the hotel.

But he knows the aches in his joints. Knows the grit in his mouth, the click in his dry throat, and the blurriness in his eyes.

Looking at the bed, maybe a couple hours past now, had made him nauseous.

But if he keeps sitting at his computer, he might just end up passed out anyway.

He’s not sure if something in his posture changed, if he made a noise, or if Eliot and Parker are just psychic, but the next time he blinks, he’s got a lap full of a frustrated looking Parker. His arms are awkwardly stretched out around her, now that he can’t reach his keyboard, and he’s kind of just left to blink at her, trying to figure out if she teleported, or if he’s really so out of it he just didn’t notice her sliding in his personal space like that. From the look she’s giving him, he’s betting on the latter (though some small part of him is definitely convinced of the former).

He feels a heavy, warm hand on his shoulder a moment later, Eliot using his grip to spin him around in the chair, the movement causing Hardison to wrap his arms around Parker, who seems intent on staying in his lap for the moment.

Hardison has to blink away the fuzziness in his eyes, has to actively try to get them to focus on the man looming over him.

He expects frustration. Grumpiness. Maybe a touch of anger, like what always seems to be clouding the edges of Eliot’s eyes when they work a working man’s case.

What he sees instead are clear grey eyes, filled with worry. A thin mouth curved down, pulling at the lines around his eyes.

Eliot reaches up to curl a hand around Hardison’s jaw, touch gentle and grounding, and Hardison can’t help but melt into the touch.

“Think you’ve gone long enough, Hardison.” Eliot says after a moment of silence, voice gruff in that way that tells Hardison he’s upset, but not at him. But the words don’t calm him—instead, he startles slightly, head snapping back up, trying to look back at his computer.

“Just a minute, yeah? I almost got this figured out, I just need a little more-”

Parker’s in his face next, her hands decidedly less gentle where they’ve grabbed onto his face to direct him back to look at her.

“We’ve got 48 hours before we can even think about making a move. All this’ll be here when we get up.” There’s no argument he can level against the tone she’s using, and he feels his shoulders crumple in a little. Her touch softens, a thumb brushing over his cheekbone while her other hand drops to trace lightly down his neck. “You need to sleep, Hardison.” And she almost sounds apologetic, but no less determined. He’s not winning this.

And then he actually catches up.

“We?” And his voice is rusted out and scraped raw and he’s not quite sure how he got so bad so quick. But he winces to hear it, and can feel Eliot’s hand on his shoulder tighten.

“Yes, we. You think we’re letting you do this alone?” Eliot asks, and Hardison almost, almost snaps out that he had done it alone, twice now, even, “We know you tried, and we’re sorry we weren’t here. We should’ve been. We knew this was going to be rough from the start, and we should’ve checked in on you.” There’s warm breath at his temple, then a firm press of lips in the same spot, and Hardison swears his breath doesn’t catch, even as Parker presses a kiss to his cheek as a mirror.

Hardison can’t be mad at either of them. Not for this. Not only would it require more energy than he has right now, but what they did or didn’t do really isn’t the problem here.

So he just nods, feeling the tension he hadn’t even been aware of carrying slip out of his frame. His arms stay locked around Parker only just.

He feels more than hears the rough rumble of Eliot’s laugh, feels like he should be offended at Eliot’s muttered complaint that he better not have to carry them both to bed (even though they all know he will, because he has, no matter what he says about it later), but can’t really find it in himself to care.

Maybe the sound he makes when Parker squirms out of his grasp is a touch pathetic, but the next thing he knows, he’s got Eliot levering him up out of his chair, completely ignoring his ‘I can walk, dammit’, and leading him to bed, and honestly, that sounds like a fantastic idea.

He loses track of Parker for a moment, but then he hears the click of a door being shut, and the rustle of blinds being pulled, and while the room isn’t completely dark, not in the middle of the day, it is darker than it had been.

Eliot gently pushes Hardison onto the bed, just as Hardison hears the heater kick on, and the next thing he knows, he’s being pulled back into the curve of Eliot’s chest, Eliot’s arms wrapped around his stomach like a vice. Parker crawls up onto the bed in front of him, stretching out to grab one of his hands to pull close. There’s space between him and Parker, but only enough to allow them to breathe. And with his hand in hers, he can feel her breath on his fingertips, a gentle reminder without overwhelming him with too much heat, too much pressure. Her legs gently press at his without wrapping around him, another gentle point of contact he revels in. Eliot at his back is almost forcefully grounding, his arms low enough that he can breathe easily. And with the heater quietly chugging away in the background, the blankets stay kicked down at their feet, in no danger of tangling in his legs or wrapping tight around him.

He’d probably cry, if he thought about it too hard.

But for now, he just feels...safe.

He thinks he goes to say something to that effect, as his eyes slip closed and sleep pulls him under, but he can’t be sure. What he is sure of though, is Eliot pressing a soft kiss to the knob of his spine, Parker’s grip tightening on his hand, and a ghost of a kiss at his fingertips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always loved ^^


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